


House Pride

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hogwarts AU, Potterlock, Teenlock, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-30 23:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: manirvs prompted: Molliarty Hogwarts AU with Slytherin!Jim taking notice of first year!Mollynonchronological vignettes at Hogwarts





	1. First Year - What I Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nirvs (nirvanad)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirvanad/gifts).



Molly is kicking her feet back and forth, legs still too short to touch the ground, humming, enjoying the scenery the speeding train provides and they rush on toward Hogwarts.

 

She's by herself in the little train car, Sherlock and John having ran off toward the sweets cart after arguing about what to get for so long that it had left.

 

"Get me a chocolate frog!" she'd called out after them and the tap-tap-tap of their footsteps.

 

The rhythm reminded her of a tune and now that tune was stuck in her head and she had to hum it out and it went nicely with the chhh-chhh-chhh of the steam engine and the kicking, and she was so looking forward to being at the famous school of magic for the very first time. The music in her head segued nicely into that daydream and she soon found herself choreographing a musical number that would take place in the dining hall, a big and fanciful piece with all the first years, and, because this was a daydream, a brief solo for her, and a duet moment with Sherlock.

 

She is so engrossed in this imagination that she misses the knock on the window, and then the car door cracks open.

 

Molly whips her head around to find a boy, not much older than her but at least a year, judging by his Slytherin uniform.

 

He tilts his head, studying her in a way she hasn't seen people get studied before, and then nods toward the seat across from her as if asking permission, before taking the seat without giving her a chance to answer anyway.

 

"I'm Jim Moriarty," he says, extending a hand for her to shake. "Have you seen a frog on the train?"

 

She shakes her head.

 

"No, I haven't. I'm Molly Hooper."

 

"Ah, well," he says with a shrug, before collapsing back into the seat. "Bet someone stepped on it. I told him he shouldn't have let it out of its cage."

 

Molly contemplates the lost pet's chances at survival on the train. Even odds, she thought. If it was small enough to get stepped on, it was also small enough to find a nice nook to hide in.

 

"I saw a dead frog once," she offers conversationally. "Not stepped on, just, my cousin had to dissect one for an assignment. She's not a witch, she's going to become a scientist."

 

Jim blinks at her, curious. "What was that like?"

 

Molly circles her index finger into her thumb to make a tiiiiny circle and holds it up to show Jim.

 

"That's how big its heart is," she says.

 

"Huh," he says.

 

Molly nods.

 

The train chh-chh-chhs along.

 

"So you're alone too," he says after a moment. "Like me."

 

This puzzles Molly.

 

"I'm not alone," she says.

 

He gives her a look like he thinks she's really dumb. She can tell.

 

"Um. Yes you are. You're literally sitting here, by yourself," he says.

 

"That doesn't mean I'm alone," she shoots back, suddenly not wanting to explain if he's just going to jump to conclusions.

 

He looks at her, then his gaze wanders around the train car. True, their things are all tucked away and it does look like it's just Molly. But he seems to come to some conclusion because he suddenly grins at her.

 

"First year, huh? All three of you."

 

Molly nods.

 

"Well, you're going to be sorted into Slytherin, so take this as an early welcome," he says. "I can tell."

 

Molly makes a face at him. Slytherin? She thinks not. Neither of her parents are Slytherins, and pureblooded as most of her direct ancestors are, she comes from a rather hodgepodge sort of heritage. Not like Sherlock, whose family of Holmeses boasted a great number of accomplished and famous Slytherins with the occasional stray.

 

"Oh you don't believe me?" he says, reading her skepticism on her face.

 

She shrugs. More like she hasn't thought about it. She had a niggling hope she'd get sorted into Ravenclaw, like Sherlock was sure to be. He has all the makings of an iconoclast, and is fiercely individualistic, to boot. Molly’s not quite like that, but she knows that’s not all it means to be a Ravenclaw. 

 

She knows she’s definitely not like John, the adventure seeker and risk taker of the group, who is sure to be sorted into Gryffindor, like his sister and father. 

 

“You’re the type of person who knows what she wants, Molly Hooper,” Jim says seriously, and Molly looks to find him watching her, very carefully.

 

She gets a flash of an image of a version of herself, self-determined and confident. A version of herself that knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.

 

That’s not her, Molly muses. She doesn’t even know what house she wants to be sorted in. But oh, if that wasn’t an image. She did  _ want _ to be the type of person who knew what she wanted.

 

Jim Moriarty, she thinks, narrowing her eyes. Did you put a spell on me?

 

She doesn’t ask that. She feigns nonchalance instead.

 

“I bet you’re wrong,” she says.

 

He laughs.

 

“Bet I’m not,” he says, standing up. Molly hears the tap-tap-tap of footfalls approaching. “See you at the Sorting Ceremony, Molly Hooper.”

 

She nods a goodbye at him, as he waves his fingers and swans back out of the car. 

 

“Who was that second year?” Sherlock says a second later, catching the door before it’s even swung closed, and hopping in to plop back down on his seat. Molly takes the chocolate frog he proffers her with a chipper thanks! and budges over so John can take a seat as well. He has an armful of sweets and treats, which he drops into the seat beside Sherlock for them to sort through and share.

 

“Jim Moriarty,” Molly says. 

 

“He was looking for his friend’s frog,” she adds. We made a bet, she doesn’t say. 

 

“Huh,” Sherlock mumbles to himself. “Bet it got stepped on already.”

 

John makes a face at him at that.

 

-

 

Molly lets the Sorting Hat fall atop her head, over her eyes, with some trepidation, and a whole lot of excitement. 

 

_ Well that’s easy _ , she hears it say directly into her mind,  _ you’ve already got it all sorted for yourself, haven’t you? Heh. _

 

Before she can even comprehend the meaning of the line, or what exactly she’s made up in her mind, the hat has shouted something and then is pulled off her head. 

 

“ _ SLYTHERIN!!” _

 

She finally registers what the hat says after what feels like a long moment, though maybe in reality it was only a split second. 

 

She’s pushed to stand, and she scans the crowd dizzily for her friends.

 

Molly’s eyes land on Jim Moriarty, who is smiling a very smug smile at her.


	2. Fifth Year - Perfect

Molly’s eyes are focused intently on the mirror as she fixes up her ponytail. Once she’s got it, her gaze drifts lower and to the left, until she meets Jim’s eyes through the reflection. He’s lounging practically upside-down on the bed, flipping through a magazine she’d borrowed from Mary.

 

“I told you I’d make Prefect before you did,” Molly says with a smirk. He returns it with less good sportsmanship and more sarcasm in nature and maneuvers himself up so that he’s sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed.

 

“And why would I want to be Prefect?” Jim drawls.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Molly replies, drawing out her words, as if she really has to think about it, trying to keep laughter out of her tone. “To recruit your little minions? To start building that empire like you never stop talking about?”

 

He snorts, and it sets off her giggles.

 

“No, no,” he says, between their laughs. “I work from the shadows, and you, you perfect little Prefect, you, will be the face of the operations.”

 

Molly rolls her eyes and turns around, hands on her hips.

 

“I’m not playing front to any of your schemes, Jim, I’ve got a perfect record,” she says.

 

“And perfect it shall stay,” he responds graciously. 

 

Molly shakes her head, not unfondly. 

 

“Come on now, or we’ll be late,” she says. 

 

Jim is slow to get up anyways. She’s at the door before he’s even gotten up off the bed.

 

“Come  _ on.  _ If you help me finish patrolling and rounding up those little first years, we can take a second try at making that invisibility potion,” she says. “The labs will be empty still through dinner, and I know you’ve got enough ingredients stashed for it.”

 

“If I’ve got enough ingredients, what do I need you for?”

 

“I’m the more precise one, when it comes to getting perfect temperatures. Come on!”


	3. Fourth Year - One-upmanship

 

Sherlock tugs at the sleeves of his dress robe, unconsciously self-conscious, and Molly pats him reassuringly on his other arm, which she has tucked into hers.

 

“Don’t worry,” she says, “you look lovely.”

 

He gives her a very dry look.

 

“Now you’re supposed to say that I look lovely too, or something along those lines,” she prompts. His eyes flit away.

 

“The thing you did with your hair is very elaborate,” he says without much feeling.

 

Molly sighs. That’s probably as much as he’s going to give.

 

Still, the point of this, of going to the Yule Ball with Sherlock, is not to teach him manners. Molly steals a glance at him as they stroll into the hall, now decked out like a supernova colliding into a black hole, a cacophony of glitz and darkness and pulsing music swirling around.

 

Sherlock is all long lines and sharp angles and nervous energy. He’s recently had a growth spurt, and hasn’t quite gotten a handle on his newly elongated limbs and self yet, but he’s getting there, and they’ve been practicing their dancing.

 

In a word? He’s _ eyecatching. _

 

And the point of this, Molly thinks, is to catch someone’s eye.

 

She scans the crowd as Sherlock scans for nooks and crannies to hide in, and she finds who she’s looking for.

 

And it takes everything she has to will herself to not let her jaw drop.

 

Jim spots her from across the room too, and starts to make his way over. Molly bristles instinctively, and blows a strand of hair out of her face.

 

“Hello Molly, Sherlock,” Jim says. He looks great, as usual, but it’s only heightened by the fact that he has Irene Adler on his arm.

 

Molly is mentally screaming. Even Sherlock looks vaguely interested.

 

She smiles at the both of them, bold red lipstick looking perfectly natural on the drop-dead gorgeous 17-year-old. Leave it to Jim to succeed at asking an older girl to the dance, Molly thinks, equal parts put out and proud. And not only that, but the, hands-down, most  _ gorgeous _ girl in school.

 

“Irene Adler,” she says, holding her hand out as if Molly and Sherlock were meant to kiss it. Molly nearly does on reflex, but then pulls herself back just in the nick of time. Of course, neither Jim nor Sherlock missed it, figures, and Jim snorts and Sherlock gives her a funny look, like she’s grown a second head. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

 

Molly forces on her most pleasant smile instead, and does her best to not only shake Irene’s hand, but to nudge Sherlock into doing so as well. She mentally wills him to kiss it, but he does no such thing, remaining still and bored. She rolls her eyes and gives up.

 

“Molly Hooper,” she cuts in quickly, trying to salvage the introductions. “And this is my friend Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Irene turns her smile on him, and though Sherlock doesn’t smile back, he does look slightly curious, which is reason enough for Molly to mentally do a victory fist pump.

 

“He’s brilliant,” she adds. “Just the other day, he invented a potion that makes the taker completely deaf to the world, and not only that, anyone within a three-foot radius hears nothing but silence as well.”

 

Irene looks curious at that now, too.

 

“Are you any good at charms, Sherlock Holmes?” she asks. “I’ve a trinket that does nearly the same thing.”

 

Score!

 

Sherlock looks miffed at the suggestion that charms could compare to potions, and starts babbling on about his method, not even noticing Irene taking up his arm and steering them toward the punch.

 

As they leave, Jim turns to her and gives her the biggest smile.

 

“How’d I do?” he asks.

 

Molly claps her fingers against her palm, a quiet round of applause.

 

“Bravo, Mr. Moriarty,” she says, “my hat’s off to you!”

 

He smirks.

 

“Irene Adler!” she whispers, half in disbelief. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

 

“I told you I’d be able to find someone to turn Sherlock’s head,” he says.

 

“I never thought I would live to see the day,” Molly says, shaking her head.

 

His self-satisfied smile turns fond and indulgent. Jim holds out his hand.

 

“And now, Ms. Hooper, would you care to dance?”

 

Molly takes his hand and offers the tiniest curtsy.

 

“Yes, definitely,” she says. “I’ve suffered weeks of dance lessons with Sherlock, for this moment, you know. I’m damn well going to enjoy it.”

 

He laughs, before planting a kiss to her knuckles, then sweeps her out onto the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these schemey little kids make the best partners in crime


	4. Fifth Year - Mistakes

 

Molly  _ hates _ Amortentia.

The “love” potion. Just thinking about it makes her instinctively darken her eyes and curl her lips down.

She hates what it stands for, what it  _ does. _ It’s not a love potion at all, but a perversion of the very idea of love, of the purest thing in this world. It causes an unhealthy obsession in the drinker and induces not love but a manic episode and a sickly pallor. To Molly, it’s  _ sacrilege. _

It doesn't mean she hasn't wanted to try her hand at brewing one perfectly though.

This year, Molly’s been placed in an advanced potions class, meaning it's mixed with students from the year above hers. Meaning Jim is jabbing his elbow into her arm and distracting her with gossip while she's trying to watch the professor demonstrate with precision how to brew Amortentia.

Molly misses the professor’s final remark as Jim whispers to her about the professor’s affair. She doesn’t care about the affair! Molly bites down a grunt of frustration as she watches the liquid in the cauldron take on a mother-of-pearl sheen and spirals of smoke start to rise from it. Then she takes out her frustration by digging her heel into Jim’s foot.

“Ow!” Jim yelps, sounding hugely offended, and it's him, not Molly, who becomes the center of the professor’s ire for disrupting class.

“Ah, Mr. Moriarty, thank you for volunteering. Please, do come up here.”

Behind the professor’s back, Jim sticks his tongue out at Molly, who covers her mouth to stop a giggle. He slinks to the front of the class, looking like he's unbothered by the whole thing.

“Now, if you would be so kind. Go ahead, give it a whiff.”

Jim gives the professor a look of mock suspicious. 

“You wouldn't be trying to make me fall in love, would you?” he jokes good-naturedly, earning him laughs from the class. 

“Don't think so highly of yourself that you should be the center of someone’s obsessive attention, Mr. Moriarty, I can assure you, my interest, as is everyone else’s in this room, is purely academic.”

That gets even more laughs than Jim’s joke, Molly notices, and he must be itching to pout now.

Instead, Jim sniffs, then steps up to the cauldron.

“What do you smell?”

Jim wrinkles his nose, trying to differentiate the smells.

“Something citrusy… not like cleaner, but...a fresh squeezed lemon. And black tea.”

He steps back, then toward the cauldron again, reaching out to waft the tendrils of smoke toward him.

“Heated cast iron, like the cauldron. Though I can't tell if that's coming from the potion or the fact that we're in the potions lab and I'm in front of a freshly heated cauldron.”

Jim stops, frowns, then squints into the potion.

“What else?”

“Beeswax, I think.”

Jim is a bit perturbed when he gets back to his seat,  and his attention is strictly on the professor the rest of the lesson, no matter how many times Molly tries to get his attention. 

A second student is called up to relay her own experience smelling the potion, listing bubblegum, something woodsy, and a spiced butternut squash soup. The professor goes on to explain how the potion smells different to each and every person, changing depending on what they are attracted to, and the rest of the boilerplate information about the potion that Molly already knows. 

The fun part, the nuts and bolts of it, is over, and Molly watches with equal parts self-righteousness and wistfulness as the potion ingredients are packed away and locked up when class is dismissed.

Later that evening, Molly fights the urge to write a treatise on ethics for her potions essay and instead pens the beautifully cited history paper that she knows will get full marks. 

She’s putting the finishing touches on her piece of parchment when her eyes land on the tube of chapstick on her nightstand.

It’s cherry flavored and cherry tinted. It’s what she was wore on her lips when she and Jim had their first kiss; spontaneous and quick, before they ducked back into the group with the rest of the students heading back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade.

Her heartbeat picks up just thinking about it.

They didn’t talk about it, after, and now it had been already a few weeks.

Molly raises a finger to her lips, touching it gently, still looking at the chapstick.

Then, she gets an idea.

-

Breakfast the next day is the same as ever. Molly arrives the same time as most of the students, and saves a seat next to her. Jim won’t arrive until there’s not 15 minutes left for breakfast, so his plates sit empty.

Except this time, Molly makes sure there’s a goblet of orange juice for him, and saves him one of those pistachio-studded sweet rolls that always go so quickly.

Jim raises a curious eyebrow at her as he slides into his seat.

“Thanks?” he says.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, taking another bite of her toast. He wrinkles his nose at her butter-marmalade-almond butter striped concoction, same as ever.

Then he takes a sip of his juice.

Jim stops, and shoots Molly a glance. The quick movement causes her to reflexively look over as well, and they lock eyes.

Molly forces herself to still, and then act natural, and take another bite of toast. But Jim’s eyes don’t leave her, and he hasn’t set the goblet down, though he isn’t drinking anymore.

Molly raises an eyebrow. “What?”

He narrows his eyes at her, and then, as if making up his mind, drains the rest of the goblet in one long go, keeping his eyes locked on hers the entire time.

Molly rolls her eyes, trying to brush off the weird moment as just another one of Jim’s dramatics.

The rest of breakfast is same as usual. They chat about their upcoming exams, and when to meet for lunch later. 

But five minutes til class, Jim suddenly lurches forward.

“Jim?”

Molly reaches for him. His brows are furrowed and sweat beads on his forehead.

“I don’t feel so well,” he says.

“Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?” Molly asks, hesitant.

“ _ Ugh _ , no. No way. I’m just going to lie down a bit,” Jim replies with a grimace, wobbling to get up on his feet. “I’ll see you at lunch. I bet I’ll be fine by then.”

Molly looks skeptical. “I’ll check on you then.”

Jim shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you-”

“I’m  _ sure. _ ” 

“Fine, fine,” Molly says, nodding after Jim as he hobbles out of the dining hall.

She bites her lip, and hopes she hasn’t botched everything up.

-

Molly is leaving her Charms class, having made up her mind to swing by the dormitories and check in on Jim, who, even if he is fine by now, will no doubt still be in his room taking his merry time before getting on his way to meet her.

She’s lost in thought about this as she climbs up the stairs out into the hall, so she’s completely caught off guard when she walks straight into a wall of pink smoke and through it.

It’s not until the giggles and chatter around her in the hall become more obvious and pointed that she looks up, and whirls around to see what’s going on.

There, in giant, floating pink letters that take up the entire width and height of the hallway, are words spelling out GO OUT WITH ME, MOLLY HOOPER.

“Molly,” she hears a familiar voice say, and her eyes land on Jim, who is standing under the big R with a wand in one hand and a bouquet of garish pink things in the other. Her books slip from her arms and plummet to the ground.

“Will you go out with me?” he asks, ignoring the uproar of giggles from their onlooking classmates.

Oh, Molly thinks, what have I done?

-

Molly clears her throat, opens her mouth, then closes it again, not quite knowing where to start. 

Jim is looking at her with a sort of lovelorn expression from across the library table, the two of them having made a tactical retreat after Molly collected her books and herself and telling Jim they should maybe discuss this elsewhere.

He props an elbow up on one of the books and then leans his face into his hand, gazing at her a bit dopily, as if content to just watch her, no conversation needed.

It’s a bit weird, Molly thinks, and quite unlike Jim’s usual chatterbox self.

“Jim…” Molly starts hesitantly.

“Yes, Molly, my dear, my love?” he responds. No trace of sarcasm, not even of the fond variety.

Ooh. She tries not to grimace. If he’s saying this while he doesn’t want to…

How embarrassing. For him.

Molly snorts, then covers it up with a cough.

“Jim,” she says again. “Remember this morning, when you said you weren’t feeling well?”

He nods, seemingly too engrossed in the color of her eyes to pay much attention to her words.

“Well, you don’t look so well right  _ now _ ,” she says. “Perhaps you should go back to your room, and lie down some more.”

His mouth drops open in an ‘o’ of surprise, and he gasps softly. He looks at her like he hadn’t seen her before, and then suddenly he giggles and his expression turns sly.

“Molly, Molly, are you trying to get me into bed so soon? Before we’ve even had our date? A proper one, with flowers and candles and dinner and everything,” he says. 

Molly gives him a flat stare. Normal Jim would have responded to that with a witty quip.

This Jim just settles back into a contented smile and gives her a one-shouldered shrug.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay what?” she asks.

“We can go to bed, if you wish,” he says dreamily. 

Molly looks affronted and whips her head around to see if anyone else heard. Thank  _ goodness _ they’re alone.

She picks up her books, then fixes him with a stare.

“Jim,” she says. “Listen to me very carefully.”

He nods, wide-eyed and listening.

“I want you to go back to your room.  _ Alone. _ And then get some rest. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t trying to launch any of your schemes. Just. Sit there. Take a nap. Do some reading or something.”

Jim looks skeptical.

“I’ll check in on you later, and I’ll let the professor know you’re missing Potions because you’re ill. Do you have your essay? Nevermind, I’ll have Toby pick it up from you and bring it over and I’ll hand it in for you. Go get some rest, Jim.”

Molly puts on her sternest look, the one that makes even the third years think she’s infallible, and Jim slowly assents, finally nodding. 

“Good.”

Then she turns on her heel and walks out to get to her next class.

-

_ Pik. _

Molly scratches her nose and crosses out a word in the notes she’s taking for Transfiguration, scribbling in a more precise one.

_ Pik. Pik. _

This is not her best class, by far. She gets decent marks alright, but every assignment, every task is a struggle.

_ Pik! _

Molly squints at the window beside her, and looks around for the cause of the sound. 

It’s almost as if…

She looks down out the window and sees Jim there, standing, a small speck on the ground throwing rocks.

He waves.

Molly looks horrified.

It’s too far away for her to tell whether he’s all better now.

Is he here seeking retribution, or to continue with misguided professions of love?

At least he’s being covert about it.

“MOLLY HOOPER!” 

Or not.

Out of nowhere, music swells like the climax of one of those cheesy muggle movies Mary’s showed them where a boy and a girl spend an hour proclaiming to hate each other before leaping into each other's arms. 

Molly pales as Jim unleashes a flock of white doves from  _ where in the world  _ and anyone in the vicinity stops to gawk and stare.

“I think I'm falling in love with you,” he shouts.

Molly’s too pinned in place to sink down into her chair. No doubt the students behind her in class have heard as well. Her cheeks burn and she doesn't know what to do. 

The birds keep amassing and it's actually getting a bit creepy.

Worse, it seems Jim is trying to hitch a ride on the flock of birds and there is no way that can end well.

Suddenly, a scream pierces the air, breaking her from her trance of embarrassment, and Molly seeks out the source. Her eyes land on a girl on the connecting bridge between buildings, hair pulled on by a handful of birds, caught in time by a friend before she went over the side. She must be crying now, Molly thinks. 

“Mr. Moriarty!”

A teacher's voice.

Molly turns too see Jim bolting across the yard, birds scattering to the sky now, and teachers in hot pursuit.

This is all such a mess.

-

Molly goes to her next class filled with trepidation  

She feel guilty enough that she wants to go check on Jim, but she's smart enough not to skip class to do so, not when there are teachers on his trail.

So now, she's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

DADA isn't hands-on today, which means she gets the small reprieve of sitting with her eyes intently on the front of the lecture, not needing to interact with any of the other students who no doubt will make comments she does not have the patience right now to respond to.

She’s able to concentrate on the spells and lesson and forget about the chaos she caused for just a little bit, just a while, before she has to go and face the music.

Molly is listening to the professor play devil’s advocate to himself as he explains the range Legilimency capabilities. 

She barr notices Toby hop up onto her desk, absent-mindedly stroking her hand down his back as he presents himself for pets.

After a second or two, though, he shakes her off and yawns. Her eyes drop to the scroll of paper around his neck and she unties it. Right. Jim’s pape.

Except, as soon as Molly touches the seal, the scroll erupts into an explosion of glitter, stunning Molly and causing a few shrieks, which are then immediately drowned out by the cheery musical tune that starts to play.

Bouncing pumpkins, for whatever reason, conjured up from smoke and glitter, start to sing a surprisingly pleasant acapella arrangement of a do-wop-y version of  _ Don't Go Breaking My Heart. _

Molly is.

Not embarrassed, not even particularly guilt-ridden.

She slowly lowers her head, until it  _ thunks _ against her desk.

Molly is just done.

-

When Molly finally gets back to her room it’s covered it flowers. Not rose petals like the cliche but daisies and sunflowers and marigolds and other cheery things she likes even though they're out of season. Her heart twinges just a little, and she approaches Jim, who’s kneeling at the center of the floral explosion, with feet like lead.

She lets out a world-weary sigh and the hopeful expression on his face falls into a frown.

“Molly?” he asks, shuffling forward. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong is you’ve mucked up my day, she doesn’t say.

Molly slowly takes a seat on the ground, just a little ways from him, and gives him a long, flat look. He doesn’t falter, but normal Jim wouldn’t falter at that look either.

“Jim,” she says very sternly. He nods.

Molly’s hands are balled into fists, because she’s not as strong as she looks right now. She’d sought to play a little harmless prank, and now she’s mucked it all up. 

She has to set things right.

“Whatever you think you took this morning, it wasn’t real,” Molly says.

Jim only tilts his head. Molly wonders if he doesn’t understand, or doesn’t believe her.

“The Amortentia,” she explains. “I didn’t get it at all. I just rubbed the inside of the goblet with some charred lemon rinds and then my cherry chapstick.”

She’d taken a big lap of faith with that, guessing that her morning tea, their potions classes, and the cherry wax kiss they shared were what he’d been alluding to when he’d spoken in class. She could tell when he was lying and when he wasn’t, but half lies and half truths complicated things.

She’d taken a bet that Jim had feelings for her, and by the looks of things, she was right. But look where it’d gotten her. Sitting on the floor with the boy she liked, telling him his reciprocated feelings were a lie.

Jim stares at her for a long moment, then looks to the ceiling, as if contemplating, as if processing this information.

He’s quiet as he does this, and Molly stares at the flowers on the floor before her, eyes fixed on the ground as she picks at the carpet.

“I know,” he finally says.

She jerks her head up to give him an incredulous look.

“What?” 

Was he just  _ teasing _ her then? That’s even worse, she thinks. But his expression doesn’t seem teasing. 

No, his expression is completely serious and clear when he shrugs and explains.

“When I first smelled the goblet I thought it was a bit suspiciously. Suspiciously spot-on. I was worried, but I took the gamble, as you saw,” Jim says.

“Then when I started feeling sick by the end of breakfast, I thought, hey, maybe she got me after all.”

He leans back, supporting himself up with his arms.

“So I get back to my room, dizzy, a right mess. Turns out it was just the juice being a little off, but hey, I didn’t know at the time. I lie there, damp washcloth getting soaked through with sweat, and oh I don’t know, maybe half an hour later, I get this idea that, if it’s you, it isn’t so bad, is it?”

“Why not you? So I decide I’ll ask. It might be the last lucid thing I’ll do, so I’ll ask. And you like romance, don’t you? You like grand big gestures an declarations of love. So that’s what I did.”

“And then, I was so happy to see you, that I didn’t really care what you put in my juice after all. Better you than anyone! So I decided I’d just go along with the ride.”

“I tried to stay in my room, I really did, I think, but I was there a while and decided I had to try again, I had to see you again, and then so I went out into the yards because I knew you sat by the windows during Transfiguration. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do yet, but I saw a pigeon and thought, well, doves were a thing.”

_ Doves were a thing??? _

“It wasn’t until I’d nearly scared the living daylights out of that first year,” he says, shifting a bit. “That knocked some sense into me.”

“Then I saw you, and I remembered: You hate Amortentia.”

“You’re not like me, Molly Hooper, there are certain lines you won’t  _ ever _ cross, and Amortentia is one of them. So. It couldn’t have been that this morning.”

“And so I knew what I’d just done, all of it was just me,” he adds with a tiny chuckle. 

Molly is just staring, expressionless, not processing, just taking information in.

“And the song letter?”

He gives her a crooked smile.

“Just the cherry on top, dear Mols,” Jim says. “I figured you deserved one more joke for all you put me through.”

Molly stares at him for a long time, then looks away, staring into the space, trying to process it all.

Jim just smiles as he watches her, waiting.

And waiting.

Molly still hasn’t responded, and isn’t even looking at him.

Jim frowns.

“Molly?

He reaches out, but before he can jostle her shoulder, she’s whipped around and she smacks her hand against his arm.

“Ow!” he yelps, hand going to the offended spot. She hit him  _ hard _ .

“Jim Moriarty, you little shit!” she says, gasping with laughter.

His eyes are wide and his shoulders tense, but once he realizes she’s laughing and not with insanity, he relaxes.

Molly clutches her stomach, doubled over with laughter, until she has to wipe at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh. Ohh,” she says. “I guess we both got each other then.”

“Yep,” he replies. 

“So I guess we’re going out then,” she says.

His smile widens. “Ye _ p _ .”

“Because you _like_ _me_ ,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Because you’re _attracted_ to me. Because you might just be _falling in love with me_.”

He snorts at that but his cheeks are red, and Molly gives him her best and biggest smile, and then scoots over, and leans toward him.

She watches his eyelashes flutter as his expression changes and he leans in too, slowly.

And slowly they meet in the center, a sweet pressing of one’s lips against the other’s. A replay of their first kiss. They break apart, and she’s not sure which one of them leans in again and deepens the kiss. The third one is just a small peck on the corner of the mouth. The fourth one is slow and sensual and his hand finds its way to her cheek.

Molly pulls back and strokes the line of his jaw with her thumb. 

“Me too,” she whispers.

“Hm?”

She presses her forehead against his shoulder.

“All the things I just said about you. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I think that's all I got for now


End file.
